I'm sure Kavanagh is rolling around in his grave laughing at all the deep theories based on his simple love poem!

It may be apposite to mention that it's sung to the tune of Fáinne Gheal an Lae (the Bright Dawning of the Day), a traditional song - if anyone wants to read something into that, go on, it'll make even more fun!

I love Kavanagh's view of my city. Coming as he did from the mountainy country of the northwest, where three-quarters of the view is a huge sky full of racing clouds, he has a great view of a city which must have felt to him like the depth of a ravine.

Someone on the radio the other day - Ben Kiely, maybe? - said that Kavanagh lived in Baggot Street because it was so reminiscent of a market town, with the wide street, rows of shops and pubs, and the bridge at the end.

In relation to class, well, Kavanagh was pretty well got. His family ran the Monument Creameries, and he was in no way the impoverished farmer often imagined.